


A Confession in Logic and Love

by muzakchan



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Bible Quotes, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Dining at the Ritz (Good Omens), Fluff, God Ships Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), Love Confessions, M/M, Mathematics, One Shot, The Author Regrets Nothing, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, i did math for this okay, there's a whole proof about it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-21
Updated: 2020-02-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:21:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22827073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/muzakchan/pseuds/muzakchan
Summary: Problem Statement: Prove Crowley is in love with AziraphaleStatementReason1. Love exists in the universe1. Given2. Angels can (and do) love2. Given3. Demons do not love3. Given4. Aziraphale is an angel4. Given5. Crowley is a demon5. Given (well, at least since the Fall)QED: Crowley cannot be in love with Aziraphale
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 142





	A Confession in Logic and Love

**Problem Statement:** Prove Crowley is in love with Aziraphale

Statement

| 

Reason  
  
---|---  
  
1\. Love exists in the universe

| 

1\. Given  
  
2\. Angels can (and do) love

| 

2\. Given  
  
3\. Demons do not love

| 

3\. Given  
  
4\. Aziraphale is an angel

| 

4\. Given  
  
5\. Crowley is a demon

| 

5\. Given (well, at least since the Fall)  
  
**QED:** Crowley cannot be in love with Aziraphale

* * *

Crowley has known this short but powerful proof for a very long time. He was an angel once - he knew love then - but the memories of those days are buried under pain. Centuries, millennia, eons of pain. It eats at him, burrowing holes in his soul. 

His phone is ringing. There is only one reason why his phone ever rings.

“Lunch at the Ritz, my dear? My treat!” 

Crowley’s teeth grind together as he forces back the words he wants to say, but he _knows_ aren’t true. “Yes, _fine_ , angel,” he says. It comes out exasperated. He hears Aziraphale deflate a bit on the other end of the line, but he doesn’t have the energy to explain that he isn’t upset with Aziraphale (he could never be upset with Aziraphale). 

He’s upset with himself. 

In times of need, humans usually turn to their books of scripture or philosophy. Crowley, having lived among them for so long, had adopted this habit at some point. Utterly shameful, that’s what it is, but it soothes a part of him he no longer acknowledges. At least during his waking hours. 

The demon stalks to his room, shooting an angry glance at his plants as he passes them. “ _What?_ ” he spits at the largest of the plants. The plant begins to tremble, utterly terrified, and it very quickly refocuses on photosynthesizing as well as it can. 

When he reaches the Bible (one of two books he actually owns), Crowley stops for a moment and places one shaking hand atop the book. Then, taking a deep breath, he opens it. 

Much like Aziraphale did with Agnes Nutter’s book of prophecy, Crowley opens the Bible and allows it to fall where it will. The demon groans as he reads:

> _If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal._

He makes it one line in before his head turns skyward and he shouts, “NOT FUNNY!” 

This is not the first time he has shaken the proverbial 8-Ball of the Bible and landed upon 1 Corinthians 13. In fact, for the last 2000 years, there was always a 50/50 chance that this _blasted_ verse would be the one he would open to. It solidified his opinion that the Old Testament was far superior to this _new_ one. At least the first one didn’t try to give him advice about his love life. 

Not that he _has_ a love life. Because he is a demon. And demons can't love anything. 

With a sigh, Crowley shuts the book and leaves for his lunch date. 

* * *

“You ever think about the Bible?” Crowley finds himself asking several drinks later. 

Aziraphale chokes slightly, finishes his bite, then sets his fork down and stares at Crowley. “If I’m being honest,” the angel says, the words running into one another far more than they should. “Not really. Why do you ask?” 

Underneath the alcohol, Crowley’s stomach turns. He’s played a card he wasn’t sure he was comfortable playing, but now it’s there. Now it’s in the open, and he has two options.

  1. He can pretend he misspoke and brush the whole thing off as a joke. 
  2. Corinthians 13:6 comes unbidden to his mind: _Love does not delight in evil, but rejoices with the truth._
    1. Crowley _is_ evil; therefore, return to point 1
    2. If he truly does love Aziraphale, he should tell the truth



Crowley pours himself another glass for good measure, before deciding to follow path 2b. “Sssssssometimes, yeah,” he says, the S dragging out far longer than he’d intended. 

Aziraphale smiles and leans in across the table towards Crowley. He can smell the angel’s cologne. It’s warm and spicy, and always leaves a note of apple in Crowley’s nose. He’s been kept awake many a night by the significance of this scent. 

“Really?” Aziraphale’s cheeks and lips are red, and a sense of wonder dances across his face. Crowley is stuck between wanting to kiss him and slap him. Thankfully, the angel is too far away for either one of those events to occur. “What do you think about, my dear?”

Fear (another emotion he shouldn’t be able to feel, so maybe it’s not fear at all) takes over Crowley then as he steps further down path 2b. “I like the sssssstories,” he confesses, redness rising to his own cheeks.

Aziraphale opens his mouth to say something, but Crowley continues; he doesn’t know what he’ll do if the angel makes a joke at this point, so it’s best not to let him say anything at all. 

“There’s one - well, it’s more of a phrase than a story, but it keeps coming up,” he says, and is surprised when the smile falls off of Aziraphale’s face. 

“ _Keeps_?” the angel asks in a hushed tone. “You’ve read it multiple...?” His words come to an ungainly halt, but the question is written all over his face. 

Crowley plows onward. “But it doesn’t make any _sense_ \- it’s not like I _can_ , and even if I _could_ , then -”

The sudden, unexpected contact of Aziraphale’s hand on his makes Crowley jump. When he looks up into Aziraphale’s eyes, he can see that the angel has put most of the pieces together. His heart sinks into his stomach, and Crowley thinks he can feel the stomach acid eating through the delicate membranes of his heart until it stops. 

“Which one?” Aziraphale asks. 

Crowley opens his mouth but finds he cannot speak. After a moment of sitting in silence with his mouth hanging open, Aziraphale nods and snaps his fingers. 

A Bible appears on their table, as if it had always been there. 

Words return to Crowley long enough for him to make a joke. “What about ‘no more frivolous miracles’, angel?”

Aziraphale doesn’t smile, instead waving an impatient hand. “The Holy Book doesn’t count as a miracle,” he explains. “Now open it.” 

Crowley isn’t stupid. He knows as soon as he opens the book, their relationship will be changed forever. To be honest, their relationship was forever changed as soon as he agreed to this lunch date. 

He places a hand on the book and shoots one last glance at Aziraphale. If it all goes sideways, he wants to etch this moment into his mind; to remember the way everything was before he ruined it. 

The moment before he opens the book, two things happen. 

The first is that Crowley _prays_. He prays to God that 1 Corinthians 13 doesn’t appear. 

_Please, God, let it be_ **anything** _else. I’ll do your taxes, your laundry, **anything** for it not to be that passage_. 

The second is that God responds. _It always protects, always **trusts** , always hopes, always perseveres_. 

A strange sense of calm washes over Crowley and he opens the Bible. 

“1 Corinthians 13,” Aziraphale says. Then, before Crowley, God, and the patrons of the Ritz, Aziraphale begins to read the passage aloud. 

> _If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal._
> 
> _If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but have not love, I am nothing._
> 
> _If I give all I possess to the poor and surrender my body to the flames, but have not love, I gain nothing._
> 
> _Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud._
> 
> _It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs._
> 
> _Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth._
> 
> _It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres._
> 
> _Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away._
> 
> _For we know in part and we prophesy in part, but when perfection comes, the imperfect disappears._
> 
> _When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put childish ways behind me._
> 
> _Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known._
> 
> _And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love._

When Aziraphale is finished, he turns to Crowley. His eyes are shimmery with tears but, more importantly, there is a smile on his face. “I can see why you were confused, my dear,” he says. 

Crowley nods in agreement. Part of him is waiting for Aziraphale to contradict the passage or storm out of the restaurant or to find some _reasonable_ explanation for all of this, but the angel does none of those things. Instead, he sits still - so _damn_ still - one hand on the Bible and the other on Crowley’s hand. 

“Everytime,” Crowley starts hoarsely. He pauses to clear his throat and drink another glass of wine. “Everytime I open this _bloody_ book since the Apocalypse, it’s this _bloody_ passage,” he explains. 

Aziraphale hums. “You know,” he says, smiling at Crowley, “I wasn’t entirely truthful earlier. To your question of if I ever think about the Bible.” He squeezes Crowley’s hand once. “I _don’t_ , but for some reason, just before I called you for lunch, I _did_.” 

Crowley begins to vibrate with curiosity, and Aziraphale indulges him. 

“I pulled one of my copies off the shelf, and I opened it.” The angel’s smile grows wider, and his cheeks grow redder. “Would you like to see what I opened to?” 

Without waiting for a response, Aziraphale flips through the paper-thin pages of the Bible in front of him. He comes to rest at a dog-eared page in the Psalms, and Crowley realizes with a start that this is a Bible from Aziraphale’s bookshop. 

The angel clears his throat, more to catch Crowley’s attention than anything else, and begins to read again:

> _Let the morning bring me word of your unfailing love,_
> 
> _for I have put my trust in you._
> 
> _Show me the way I should go,_
> 
> _for to you I entrust my life._

“I find the Psalms are always good for short bits of advice,” Aziraphale says after he’s done. 

“How did you-” Crowley can’t bring himself to finish the sentence.

“I didn’t,” Aziraphale responds, squeezing Crowley’s hand once again. “But I _hoped_.” 

Then, in a movement that can only be described as awkward, but would be remembered by both as incredibly fluid and remarkable, Aziraphale entwines his fingers with Crowley’s. The heat of their palms pressed together is both comfortable and exciting. Every inch of Crowley feels like it’s on fire, in the best way possible.

“I don’t know if I can,” Crowley says quietly, staring at their hands. He doesn’t want to ruin this - by _God_ , he doesn’t want to ruin this - but he also doesn’t want to promise something he can’t give. 

The angel’s eyebrows arch up as though he knows what Crowley means, but wants to hear it aloud. “Can what?” he asks innocently. 

It takes him exactly six tries and two more glasses of wine, but Crowley finally manages to get the word through his lips. “ _Love_.” Once it is out, he wonders why he was ever afraid of it in the first place. “Or, if _you_ could-” He chokes once again. Turns out, it’s still a frightening word. 

“My dear,” Aziraphale says, scooting his chair closer to the demon. “The consciousness of loving and being loved brings a warmth and richness to life that nothing else can bring.” The words flow off of his tongue smoothly and confidently, as though he’d practiced them a thousand times before. 

In fact, Crowley realizes, the words are familiar to him as well. His brow furrows. “I’ve heard that before,” Crowley says after a moment. “Did you just _quote_ someone else at me?” He cannot focus on what the quote _means_ or he may discorporate himself. 

Aziraphale scoots his chair closer, and now their legs are almost touching. “I thought it was rather touching.” The angel closes the gap between their legs, resting his thigh against Crowley’s. It’s hard for Crowley to think clearly. 

“Who was it?” the demon asks. He’s hoping, by deflecting the conversation, he can avoid whatever Aziraphale is about to say. 

Aziraphale moves his leg away. “An old friend of mine, but that’s not the point, my dear.” 

His evasiveness tells Crowley all he needs to know. “It was that _Wilde_ fellow, wasn’t it?”

An exasperated sigh and an eye roll tell Crowley he’s guessed correctly. 

“He was in love with you, wasn’t he?” 

“That’s _not_ the point,” Aziraphale says firmly. 

“Isn’t it?” Crowley smiles devilishly. Missing the warmth, Crowley closes the gap between them once more. 

“No,” Aziraphale affirms. He takes Crowley’s other hand in his. “The point is that I’ve been all over this planet and I’ve experienced every enjoyment this world has to offer.” The angel steamrolls over Crowley’s suggestive eyebrow waggle. “The point _is_ that _you_ bring a warmth and richness to _my_ life that nothing else can bring.”

Crowley thinks about this statement. On the one hand, he feels ecstatic; this is a conversation he’s been waiting nearly 6000 years to have! On the other hand, he is absolutely terrified. This is a conversation he’s been waiting nearly 6000 years to have. 

And, as a very soft and dainty set of hands gently hold his own, Crowley realizes he feels exactly the same. 

“I love you,” he blurts out. Aziraphale’s hands clamp onto his, keeping the demon from covering his mouth in shock. 

A champagne bottle pops unexpectedly on the rack next to them, and the cork flies into the chandelier above their heads. The jangling is reminiscent of the celestial bells. It’s a real miracle that nothing breaks. 

“I know, my dear,” Aziraphale says, beaming. “And I love you too.” 

* * *

**Problem Statement:** Prove Crowley is in love with Aziraphale

Statement

| 

Reason  
  
---|---  
  
1\. Love exists in the universe

| 

1\. Given  
  
2\. Angels can (and do) love

| 

2\. Given  
  
3\. Demons do not love

| 

3\. Given  
  
4\. Aziraphale is an angel

| 

4\. Given  
  
5\. Crowley is a demon

| 

5\. Given (well, at least since the Fall)  
  
6\. The consciousness of loving and being loved brings a warmth and richness to life that nothing else can

| 

6\. Definition of Love  
  
7\. Aziraphale loves Crowley = Crowley loves Aziraphale

| 

7\. Transitive Property of Love  
  
**QED:** Crowley **is** in love with Aziraphale, and (by the ineffable, transitive Property of Love) Aziraphale is in love with Crowley.

**Author's Note:**

> I just wanted to write a cute thing, and this came out - I hope y'all enjoyed it, and thanks so much for reading!! <3 
> 
> Many thanks to silentsonata for beta-ing this - they were lovely to work with and definitely made this work a lot better :) <3


End file.
